


Bird of Paradise

by incogneato



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Body Horror, Burning, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Depersonalization, Double Penetration, Electrocution, Forced Voyeurism, Genital Mutilation, Graphic Description, Gratuitous Violence, HYDRA Trash Party, Happy Ending, Imprisonment, M/M, Multi, Non-Consensual, Non-Consensual Bondage, Rape, Restraints, Revenge killing, Sadism, Torture, Triple Penetration, kind of?, references to past brainwashing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-03
Updated: 2015-08-03
Packaged: 2018-04-12 16:29:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4486698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/incogneato/pseuds/incogneato
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the prompt "We have Avengers. We have a bird-themed Avenger. Why don't we have HYDRA locking Sam in a giant sexy trashy birdcage?"</p><p>Hydra agents lock Sam in a giant sexy trashy birdcage and force Bucky and Steve to watch while they make him sing. Everybody has a really great time, except for Sam and Bucky and Steve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bird of Paradise

"We've been having such a great couple of weeks," Rumlow happily says to Steve with a friendly little elbow to his side. "First, the Asset came back to us all by itself, and then you dropped in for a visit, and on top of that we have a brand new pet! Things could not be going any better."

He pauses to check that Steve's still listening. Steve doesn't see how he could be doing anything but, since he's fully strapped into a dolly from head to toe, being wheeled next to Rumlow by two assistants as they head quickly down a featureless hallway. Every part he could possibly flex or move, each of his fingers and even his toes, is tightly bound, and there's a ball gag shoved so far in his mouth he's practically swallowing it. The only thing he can still maneuver is his eyeballs, and he's doing his best to glare Rumlow to death at the corners of his eyes, but alas that isn't one of the super powers the serum gave him.

"Aw come on, don't look at me like that! Not when I have a special treat lined up for you!" They stop before a heavy metal door and Rumlow opens it with a flourish. "You're really going to enjoy this," he promises.

The first thing Steve sees when he's wheeled inside is the cage. 

The second thing Steve sees is Bucky, Velcro strapped into a chair sitting upright, with a contraption over his face that holds his eyelids open. It reminds Steve of the movie "A Clockwork Orange," which Sam had shown him when they went through a list of the best-made artistic films and got him all caught up on Stanley Kubrick. 

Steve keeps taking in the details of Bucky, compliant and relaxed in his horrible chair, and keeps thinking about "A Clockwork Orange," because his eyes and his brain keep skittering over the cage and refusing to truly accept it.

Sam is inside the cage.

Sam is naked and bent over, neck and arms cramped into uncomfortable angles folded over his knees, the cage perfectly sized so tightly that he has no choice but to hold that position, ass up in the air. Steve doesn't know how long he's been left like that already.

"Now, isn't that a sight," Rumlow sighs next to him. He gives Steve's shoulder a brotherly pat, like they're in this together. "I think you have the best view, but you just let me know any time you want a change in angle and we'll make sure you get it, okay?" Having said that, Rumlow leaves Steve's side and walks around to the other side of the cage, nearer Bucky and to where Sam's head is.

Steve struggles harder than he ever has before in his life, but it's no use. His bonds hold secure and he has no choice but to keep facing forward like a useless slab, staring straight at Sam's helpless ass.

"Nice birdy," Rumlow says to Sam, and it's like a signal because three other Hydra agents melt out of the shadows and move towards the cage. One already has his flies open, his meaty fingers wrapped around his even meatier cock, stroking it up and down lightly.

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what's about to happen, and Steve's ma always said he was too smart for his own good.

Rumlow pulls a knife from his utility belt, non-standard issue and heavy, and skims the wicked blade over the back of Sam's head, lightly tracing a trail to the base of his neck, and then the side. "Anybody tries anything funny, and this little birdy's getting carved like a thanksgiving turkey, you understand?"

Sam says nothing, but a fine tremor runs through his body. Steve swallows hard. Bucky doesn't react at all.

And then it begins. Without any further ado, the agent who's already got his cock out just sticks it in Sam, no preparation or warning or even some kind of sign, like it's totally normal to just casually walk up to some one and put your penis in them. 

Sam shouts, because it's got to hurt, the man isn't small and from the flex of muscles in his backside, which Steve can see clearly, it takes quite a bit of force to work it in. Rumlow smiles and says, "Yes, that's it, sing for us like the pretty little songbird you are."

That makes Sam shut right up again, rebelliously silent in the face of Rumlow's command. 

Each thrust pushes his head and shoulders into the bars of the cage, rattling it and leaving welts across Sam's skin that will surely develop into bruises. Every time he is rocked forward particularly hard, he gets pushed into Rumlow's knife, painting the skin of his neck with blood from shallow nicks that remind him of the real stakes at hand. The metal cage is gilded in some kind of gold tone, with floral scrollwork detail near the top and a hinged door that genuinely looks like a larger than life copy of actual birdcage doors. It's bizarre that Hydra would just have this cage ready for a bunch of bird puns, but they are literally crazy people and Steve has long since given up on trying to figure out how and why they decide to do things. 

As though reading his mind, Rumlow smiles easily at Steve and says in an off-hand manner, "It's custom, of course, this cage. They don't just sell these every day. But we spared no expense. It's such a special occasion, after all! Do you know how much we missed the Asset? And to have it come back all by itself, without us even having to wipe it again—it deserves a reward." Rumlow turns to address Bucky instead of Steve—"Yes you do, don't you? Who's a good baby for daddy? You keep your eyes wide open and you take this all in, and you think about how good we are to you. Here's everything we could be doing to you, but we don't, because we take care of you. You think real hard about that. We went to so much trouble to get this pet just so you wouldn't get hurt."

Steve doesn't know whether to keep looking at what's happening to Sam, which is unbearable, or look at Bucky, which is heartbreaking in a totally different way. Bucky is just sitting there, watching the scene in front of him without any expression besides mild boredom.

The second of the agents steps up to the birdcage to take his turn, but the first isn't done yet and they have a quiet little negotiation about it. They decide, to Rumlow's approval, that they should just go at the same time.

With some shuffling around to accommodate the extra pair of the legs, the first Hydra agent stands a bit to the side, the tip of his dick still in Sam while the rest is exposed, pink and shiny as it juts out diagonally from where he stands. The second agent takes the vacated space directly behind Sam and begins pushing his own cock in, first nudging in next to the head of his buddy's cock and then just sliding the rest in in one smooth motion.

A whimper escapes out of Sam in spite of his effort to not give Rumlow the satisfaction of hearing him. The sound causes a full body twitch to go through Steve, impotent and ineffective. 

The way the two agents are standing unfortunately don't quite block Steve's view of their cocks, dry as the motherfucking desert, scraping their way in and out of Sam's body, splayed out and held taut by the bars of the cage. They only start getting slick when the men are aroused enough to produce precum, and then slicker when Sam begins to bleed. Steve tears his eyes away from the glistening slime trickling ever so slowly down the back of one of Sam's thighs. Sam's shoulder blades jerk and shudder along his back.

Steve almost wishes he could switch positions with Bucky instead. Not that he wants his eyelids pried open like that, but at least then he wouldn't be directly facing down the center of Sam's humiliation. Then again, the other side would mean he'd have to see Sam's face, and despite Bucky's impassiveness surely that sight has got to be worse.

"What good is a songbird that won't fucking _sing_?" Rumlow growls, digging the fingers of one hand into Sam's hair and wrenching his head in a way that his neck muscles and the cage combined won't really let him move. Rumlow flicks the wrist of his other hand, gesturing with the knife at the third Hydra agent before resting the blade back against Sam's throat.

The agent dutifully comes forward and undoes the zip in his pants. 

Steve makes a strangled gurgle around his ball gag, but obviously it does nothing to stop the third man from taking his place next to his two buddies and trying to work his cock in next to theirs.

There's no room. There's just no fucking way. It's three cocks, no preparation, no lube, and none of them are tiny. The latecomer sticks his thumb into Sam and tries to coax the head of his cock in with a firm grip around himself, and a scant few millimeters slide in. Sam whimpers again, chokes it off at the end and goes stubbornly silent.

After minutes that feel like hours, blood runs freely down between Sam's legs, mingling with his sweat. He's slumping, no longer able to hold himself up, but there's no room in the cage for him to go anywhere and one of the agents keeps him in place with two firm grips like claws digging into either side of his hips. Sam's breath comes in rhythmic whistles, a high-pitched wheeze tearing his throat on every inhale. The agents emit low grunts like a counterpoint. To round off this horrible symphony of noise, the bars of the cage produce little metallic squeaks whenever they're rattled just right. 

In the end, the third guy gives up because Sam is too tight and it hurts his dick. 

He heads around to Bucky's side to give Sam's mouth a try, but Rumlow stops him. "You can't stuff that mouth when we still haven't properly heard it sing," he says. "I'll tell you what, let's make a deal: if you can get the bird to sing, then you get to take the mouth."

The Hydra agent says it's a deal and they shake on it. He strolls over to a table in a corner of the room that Steve can't turn his head to see, his pants still open and his blood-streaked cock just bobbing out, and he returns holding an electric cattle prod in one hand and a blow torch in the other. 

Steve flexes every muscle in his core against his restraints. All he succeeds at doing is making the dolly roll a little bit further forward, ever so slightly closer to Sam and the two cocks still inside him.

An electric hum fills the air as the cattle prod is turned on. 

Steve's eyes flick to Bucky again, but his face is a perfect mask of serenity, like he isn't watching Sam, their Sam, get his insides reamed out by a couple of neo-Nazi goons while preparing to be electrocuted or burned or worse. The only thing that betrays him is a slight clenching of his right hand, the knuckles whiter than they would otherwise be if he were just casually rest his hand on the armrest. Steve tries to focus on that little detail.

As far as cattle prods go, it isn't as high of a voltage as it could be. It still makes Sam jerk and tremble like a useless piece of meat every time it's applied, but it doesn't stun him or knock him out. Even when it's held in the same place for more than a few seconds, like against the sweat-slick skin of the small of his back or his nipples, it only leaves angry red wheals rather than actual burns. Of course, the blowtorch picks up the slack in that department. 

After the first few times the small blowtorch has been used against the hyper-sensitized skin left behind in the wake of the cattle prod, Sam gives up on trying to stay silent. He cries openly, little broken noises that gurgle and catch in his throat as he also dry heaves. The cage is louder now, rattling constantly as he lurches left and right, away from the sources of pain and also forward and backward, rocked by the two Hydra agents still humping away. One of them seems to be extra excited by his buddy lighting up Sam with electricity, and his hips stutter in and out faster and faster, thrusting with increasing abandon.

Of all the horrors that are killing Steve from the inside out, the fact that Sam is letting out a continuous stream of low moans, like livestock being slaughtered slowly, is the hardest to bear. It means that the pain has driven him beyond everything else, beyond his desire not to give in to Rumlow's sick fetishes.

Rumlow, of course, is so ragingly hard in his Hydra-issue uniform trousers that the outline of his dick is clearly visible through the fabric stretched tight across it. And Rumlow, of course, is still not satisfied.

Impatient with the steady litany of wretched sobs and whimpers that his underling is managing to draw out of Sam, Rumlow grabs the blowtorch out of the agent's hand and says, "Christ almighty, you always gotta do the job yourself if you want it done properly, isn't that right, Rogers?" He gives Steve a conspiratorial wink before holding the bright blue flame to Sam's scrotum.

Sam howls. There's no other word to describe it. Sam's entire body wrenches back in a convulsive spasm in the opposite direction of the flame, which means he rocks back into the men behind him and impales himself on them, buried to the hilt. One of them, the one who had gotten more aroused when the extra-curricular toys were brought out, comes immediately, half in and half out of Sam, painting him with semen. The other one stays put. Meanwhile, Rumlow takes it all in with bright eyes, like he's genuinely getting gratification out of Sam's inhuman sounds. 

"There's the pretty song I was waiting for," he says smugly. He tsks at the Hydra agent who had failed to elicit this out of Sam. "Since you failed, I guess I'm the one who gets to claim the prize." 

He cheerfully tosses the knife he's been pressing against Sam's jugular this whole time to the agent still holding the cattle prod, and unzips his fly. The head of his cock is enormous and swollen, so engorged that it's almost purple. He has to bend his knees quite a bit to get under Sam enough to reach his mouth, with the way Sam's head is facing down, but Steve can see the moment he finds Sam's lips by the way his own mouth falls open slack with pleasure. 

That expression changes into a mask of surprised pain when Sam bites down as hard as he can.

In the same instant, as Rumlow screams and blood gushes freely from his groin and Sam's mouth, Bucky rips out of his pathetic restraints and is on his feet, taking the knife from the one Hydra agent who doesn't currently have a dick inside of Sam. He stabs him through the eye, a clean kill, and takes the cattle prod from his dead hand and then turns to stun Rumlow in the neck with it at the highest setting. 

Rumlow drops like a sack of bricks, his crotch a raw mess of red. Bucky stuns the other two agents as well, a quick one-two that leaves them unconscious. He's saving them for later. 

He then lays a gentle hand on Sam's jumping skin, unable to avoid touching a wound because Sam's back is an entire map of horrors, no part untouched. He whispers something Steve can't hear. Sam sobs. Bucky whispers something else and Sam nods.

Striding quickly over to Steve, Bucky cuts whatever magical rope they've been using to keep Steve still. They'll have to remember to bring a sample back for Stark to study, this shouldn't have been possible. 

Steve struggles out of the ropes as soon as there's any slack, gripping Bucky's forearm as he gets his legs untangled. "I almost thought we'd lost you for a second," he says lightly, the casual tone covering over the fact that he really had, for the briefest of moments, been worried that maybe they'd somehow brainwashed his best friend again. Bucky was a freaking good actor.

"Don't be dumb," Bucky replies with a tight smile. He'd 'voluntarily' come back in from the cold to report for Winter Soldier duty as soon as Sam had been taken. It was a miracle that nobody had put the two together. Man, Hydra were dumb. 

"Go take care of Sam while I shut the rest of this down," Bucky continues, and he's fully in the zone now, cold and efficient and singularly focused on his task. The rest of the base is going to know about the security breach soon, and they're going to come in with guns blazing. Bucky seals all the doors and works on overriding the passcodes so no one can get in. They'll still need to kill their way out, but this would buy them some time to do what they need to do first.

Steve, meanwhile, rummages through the unconscious Rumlow's pockets and quickly finds the keys to the birdcage. Sam buckles and collapses as soon as the stiff support of the enclosing bars is opened up, but Steve catches him no problem. He whispers an unending flow of endearments and apologies against Sam's ear as he gently helps lower him to the ground, holding him up when he needs to be sick, though only bile comes out. Sam's shaking so hard that Steve worries he's probably going into shock. He's shrugging out of his shirt and enveloping Sam with it when Bucky makes his way back to join them. 

With hands just as tender as Steve's own flesh and blood ones, Bucky helps Sam away from his puddle of thin vomit, Sam's legs wobbly and soggy as a new born colt. He arranges Sam so that he can sit propped up by the base of the chair they had tried to keep Bucky in. He leans down so he can see from Sam's vantage point, and it's perfect. "There. Now you can see," he says softly, pressing a sweet kiss to the side of Sam's temple before he stands up.

He strides over to Steve, who has dragged the three passed out bodies over so that they formed a row in front of Sam's prone form. "Which one should we start with?" Steve asks.

Bucky picks up the blowtorch that had been dropped to the floor. "You don't have to do this," Bucky says to Steve. "You watch with Sam instead. I don't mind. In fact, I'll fucking enjoy it."

Steve casts a glance over at Sam, to make sure he's still with them. He looks like he's holding it together remarkably well, all things considered, but they can't drag this out too long. He needs medical attention, a nice bath, and a bed big enough for three. Christ, Steve should stop this right now. He should call it off and tell Bucky it'll be quicker if they put a bullet through each of their heads and get Sam the hell out of here. Sam is twitching, blood soaking rapidly through Steve's shirt, but his eyes are hard and clear as he stares at Rumlow laid out before him. 

Captain America, defender of all that is good and virtuous in this country, turns back to his partner and says, "No. I have to."

Bucky gives him a lop-sided grin. "Alright, let's start with this one," he says, kicking the man who was the first to reach orgasm while torturing Sam. He grunts and stirs but doesn't awaken. Bucky kicks him in the kidneys until he does.

Without another word, Steve reaches over to take the blowtorch from Bucky and turns it on.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't want to link this fic to any of my other fandom personas. If anybody would like to do me the huge favor of informing the trash parts of tumblr about this fic, I would be forever grateful.


End file.
